


Truly, Madly, and Devastatingly

by azure7539



Series: House of Cards [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:17:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/pseuds/azure7539
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love thee, I love but thee<br/>With a love that shall not die<br/>Til the sun grows cold<br/>Til the stars grow old"<br/>(Bayard Taylor’s Bedouin Song)</p>
<p>During the Final Battle, Bellatrix managed to cast a curse before she got killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truly, Madly, and Devastatingly

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All the characters in here rightfully belong to the Muggle lady: JK.Rowling. I make no profit from this whatsoever.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so all faults are my own.
> 
> If anyone is interested in being my beta, please email me. I'll appreciate it!

**TRULY, MADLY, AND DEVASTATINGLY**

* * *

 

“Hullo,” I said, managing a familiar grin. No matter how many times I had done this, the pain was still excruciating, like a burning fire coiling at the pit of my stomach.

He looked back at me with puzzled but dull eyes, as if he couldn't exactly comprehend what was happening at all.

“And you are?” He asked, voice silky and sultry as always as those dark eyes gave me a considering once over.

“Richard, Richard Peterson,” I introduced myself for the nth time in the last two years. “I apologize for disturbing you like this, sir, but I'm from the social services and maintenance department. We're doing a monthly survey on the living conditions of this building's occupants, and I have been sent here on the behalf of the company to ask you a few simple questions, sir.”

I could feel his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as suspicion crawled into his expression like a seeping poison. Old habits die hard, they say, and I could only say that was the absolute truth in his case. Slytherin to the very end.

With the most genuine and gentle smile I could offer, I plucked the ID I had always remembered to bring along whenever I came over from the breast pocket of my jacket and handed it over for him to scrutinize. Hermione had never been more correct when she said that the thing would turn out to be entirely essential should I even want to cross the threshold of his flat.

“Don't worry, sir. I just need to have a quick look around and ask a couple of questions then I'll be out of your hair real quick, sir,” I reassured him once more. The grin quickly toned down to a more convincing smile, lest he should find me untrustworthy and slam the door into my face.

His eyes darted between me and the ID in his hand for a moment, briefly shining with the cunning sharpness that had always brought a sliver of delight to my heart before eluding behind the thin veil of fog again. The thin veil of fog that was constantly clouding his once witty and intelligent mind nowadays.

And mine then was a bloody mess of conflicting emotions, happy and despair in a never ceasing tug of war.

He grunted once and stepped away from the door, opening it just wide enough for me to slip inside as I struggled to not let my relief show. It had and would never be a sure thing of whether he would welcome me in or not. There had already been a couple of times where he had ruthlessly turned me away, just for the sake of satisfying his sudden temper.

The flat was small but neat and clean, just as it had always been. Only a few occasional stray books or pieces of paper lying around on the coffee table with a fountain pen somewhere... a replacement for the missing touch of a quill. I smiled ruefully at the thought, eyes catching the title of a very familiar book that he must have been reading when I called.

_A Tale of Two Cities_ by Charles Dickens.

My heart thudded loudly in my chest as I closed my clammy palms, feeling the hard handle of the brief case I took with me for show in one of them.

“Do you enjoy the book, sir?” I asked, swallowing and trying to sound as casual as possible. He raised one eyebrow at me, staying quiet for a moment with his lips pressing into a thin line (oh, sweet Merlin, those lips) as if contemplating the answer.

“So far, yes. Though I haven’t finished it yet,” he said finally, the words rolling off his tongue like sharp blades twisting in my gut. I had lost count of how many times I had seen him reading this book that I had brought to him (ever since that day, which had seemed like ages ago already, I saw him sadly tracing his battered and torn copy of the book among so many precious others after successfully pulling them out from under the wreckage of his rooms), but this certainly wasn't the first time he had read it. I could still hear him reading a few excerpts of it to me like a distant echo that I wished to have the luxury of basking in it over and over and over again.

However, he had forgotten it all. Like how he had forgotten everything about the content of the book and was reading it anew, he had forgotten about everything else: his friends, colleagues, me... and even himself.

“I like the book very much, too, sir,” I forced the longing out of my tone and finally sat down at the threadbare sofa that occupied his living room, finding myself wondering whether he had finally picked up the habit of watching the telly or not. “Let's get started, shall we?” I smiled again, opening the brief case and taking out a notepad, something for me to scrawl onto while pretending that I was jotting something down.

He stood there, watching me closely and intently with a certain intensity I had long since learnt not to foolishly give into and clung to its false hope of finally seeing recognition. As time wore on, the chances of him having any lucid moments at all got slimmer and slimmer as days went by. And that reality pained me as much as anyone else, if not even more so.

“Would you like some tea?” I looked up, somewhat surprised at the offer. He rarely ever asked that anymore as of late, exactly like how his response to my presence dwindled more and more with every time I dropped by.

I was flummoxed for a second or two, unable to find the right words without sounding too desperate. He studied me all the while as well before frowning and turning his face away. “You can always do me the courtesy of saying 'no, thank you', you know,” he growled, glaring with the sort of heat that was just a ghost of what it had used to be.

It still made me jump nonetheless.

“No, no, sir! I apologize! I didn't mean to be rude, it's just that it has been a long day, and you're the first to have offered me tea, sir,” I lied smoothly, quenching the panic rising up from within while praying that he would buy it.

He was looking at me again, the frown on his face deepened slightly as I smacked myself mentally for having screwed things up so foolishly (“Gryffindor,” I could almost hear him say mockingly). However, the edge eased away back behind that bloody foggy veil once more as he nodded curtly once.

“Then sit still and wait,” his back swiftly turned to me as those long legs led him into the adjoining kitchen. Soon, the soft sound of clicking crockery rang in the cool silence like small ripples on the still water surface. My eyes followed his back as he navigated rather stiffly through the slightly narrow space (for someone of his height), his back and muscles must be aching again though the movements remained at a certain level of grace that wouldn't be lost in any sort of situation.

Slowly and reluctantly, I tore my eyes from his back, shoving away the want of kneading his flesh (feeling the softness of that alabaster skin under my hands) and working out the knots of muscles and cramps that were hurting him more frequently these days, shoving it away so I wouldn't have the urge to act on it.

The room still looked pretty much the same as it did when I last saw it around a month ago. With rapid Death Eaters still on the loose and terrorizing people (Muggles and magical alike), it was growing increasingly harder to find enough room to breathe let alone visiting him... Something I regretted with every passing day.

There were only some cracks here and there on the paint and wall beneath, nothing a few quick spells couldn't fix. Maybe I should add some other books to the collection as well, to freshen things up a bit, and reinforce the wooden shelves and floor-boards as well, just to be sure that nothing could go wrong the next time another mission took up too much of my time.

Of course, others could help me watch over him, but with Ron and Hermione having a small family of their own to take care of, not to mention accompanying me on a couple of raids from time to time... It simply wasn't a readily available option should the need ever came up. Others were just as busy or just not on his list of people-to-welcome-openly, subconsciously or not.

“Tea,” his voice snapped me back to reality as I looked up to see him carefully approaching with a tray in his two hands, the beautiful smell of brewing tea wafted to me from across the room.

“Thank you, sir,” I smiled at him as he set down the tray onto the table wordlessly except for raising yet another eyebrow at me. I couldn't help but let my smile broaden when he sat down not too far away and began setting out the pot and cups, the same set he had used for the last two years.

The one I had given him.

It was quite elegantly crafted, black and shining on the outside, yet white and silvery on the inside. To say the design suited him very much would be an understatement.

He poured me a cup of black tea, his usual, and suddenly turned to drop two cubes of sugar and add a healthy amount of milk in as well before pushing the cup over to me. I stared at him in stunned silence and astonishment: that was how I always took my tea.

And he wasn't supposed to remember that.

His eyes returned the stare intently, the clear orbs gleaming under the fluorescent light with a hint of amusement that made my heart start thrumming loudly from within its confinement.

Then they grew murky again, and the moment was gone in a flash as he blinked his eyes, seemingly dazed. “I apologize,” he murmured, looking at the prepared cup in front of me. “I don't know what came over me. Let me replace it for you,” I held the cup into my hand when he made to reach for the thing, squeezing it with the hope that some of its warmth would find the way to my constricting heart.

“That's quite all right, sir. I quite like my tea with sugar and milk, too, sir. Thank you for your generosity,” I replied politely with a grin and sipped the tea. It was still the perfect brew as it had always been, I thought to myself and close my eyes briefly to enjoy the exquisite taste as it washed over my taste buds.

When I reopened my eyes, he was looking at me with a quizzical expression, nursing a cup of his own also. “It must have been a long time since your last cup of tea, I presume,” he drawled, turning away to look at something on the table.

My last cup of tea with you. I chuckled mirthfully, following his line of vision. “Indeed, it has, sir,” there was a piece of paper lying on the wooden surface of the table, only a few simple doodles had been drawn on it. And among those was one that resembled the symbol of the three Deathly Hallows, I swallowed and willed myself to calm the bloody hell down.

“Shall we begin, sir? I wouldn't want to outstay my welcome,” I smiled and picked up my notepad again. He just nodded quietly, focusing on something else entirely. “So, let's start with the basic: are you comfortable here, sir?” already, this first question caught his attention.

“Of course,” he retorted. “As you can surely see, the flat is in an adequate condition,” well, it was just like him to turn all defensive whenever he didn't feel like telling the whole truth. The reaction pleased me every single time it came up.

“Yes, I can certainly see that. However, are you feeling comfortable living here?” do you feel like you need something, anything? Are you lonely? Do you need me to stay here with you?

Obviously, I didn't voice those questions up.

He frowned, in his challenging, yet slightly unsure way. “Why should I not be?” he said irritatedly, and I knew without a doubt that it was as much of a 'yes' as I could possibly get from him.

“All right, anything that bothers you? Tell me and I'll make sure to report back and send someone over right away,” he was eying me again with a wary glint on those orbs.

It took a while, but he finally managed to say: “the shower has been acting up as of late.”

I nodded, moving my pencil as though jotting down some notes. The Warming and Nutrient/ Mineral Replenishing Charm must be wearing off then. I had put them there more than a year ago after installing his own separate plumbing system into the building itself. It was quite worth the effort knowing that should the Muggle's one ever fail, his would still be working properly. Not only that, it would make sure to detect and supply whatever nutrient he was lacking by administering it into the water and letting it be absorbed through his skin.

It was a clever charm Hermione and I (mostly Hermione anyways), with the occasional help and consultancy from others, had crafted. I would definitely fix it as soon as I was done here.

“Anything else, sir?” he shook his head and sipped his tea again, sometimes plain, sometimes with a touch of milk when he was in the mood for it.

“Now that is a short list... Any problem with the neighbor, sir?” the one that lived just across the hall. You know, messy hair and green eyes?

“No, why?” He glared as annoyance flashed through those eyes.

“Nothing, sir. Is just that many others I have interviewed have problems with their neighbors, and so I was just wondering, was all.”

“I mean what I said, Mr. Peterson,” his lip curled up into an almost sneer that made me feel quite to the point of delight. He was responding quite well this time, indeed. “And I haven't seen the neighbors in quite a while already anyways.”

Was that longing in his voice?

_'Don't give yourself hope then get crushed by it,'_ a voice in the distant past reminded me... And ironically, it had been him who had said it to me. I could still recall vividly the devastated look in his eyes that night, it wasn't something to ever be easily forgotten. I grabbed the cup and took a greedy gulp to suppress the sudden urge to shudder before placing it down carefully.

“Would you mind showing me around the flat, sir? Just to see if there is anything else we need to reinforce with the upcoming winter. You know how they say it will be harsher this year, sir. It'll just be a quick inspection, nothing more,” I tried to reassure, but it didn't seem like he was willing to move at all from his seat. Still going through the notion of letting a 'stranger' take a look at his flat, no doubt.

“I do not think that-...” he began, but I cut him off before he had the chance to deny.

“I won't pry, I promise,” my voice lowered to just above a whisper, smiling a sincere and soft smile with the hope that it would calm his mind. He stared hard at me for a long moment then set his cup down and stood up swiftly, nodding only once. I told him to take the lead and smiled secretly to myself, feeling immensely happy.

We went through all the rooms, one by one, starting with the storage space then worked our way in to the bathroom, kitchen and finally, his bedroom.

The decoration remained plain and simple just like before. Only one small picture hung on the far wall just above the headboard of the bed in the charcoal-colored room. I looked over to the window seat on my right, there still lay two pillows and a neatly folded blanket in the middle.

A sense of grief washed over me when the images of a long lost time when he would fall asleep there after staring out beyond the layer of glass, eyes distant and worn... torn with hopelessness. Then I would come sneaking quietly in to spread out the blanket and drape it over his sleeping form, wishing the whole time that there had been something I could do to ease his pain... to just stop this thrice damned thing from happening. That was when he could still remember who I was.

I swallowed back the emerging sigh, squeezing my eyes shut to override the overwhelming despair that was consuming every cell in my body. But when I opened my eyes once more, he was standing there right in front of me, only but a few steps away. Then our eyes found each other again, locked in an intense moment of silence and regret... And I couldn’t help but let out a wavering breath.

“ _I love thee, I love but thee. With a love that shall not die,_ ” he said suddenly, shattering that false moment of calm, voice low and gentle, never once breaking eye contact with me.

My heart beat erratically, eyes wide and disbelieving, feeling abruptly weak in the knees as I reached for the door frame for support, gripping tightly with surprising force.

“ _Til the sun grows cold_ ,” I began shakily, breathlessly. “ _Til the stars grow old._ ”

It used to be one of our favorite poems...

“That’s right,” he nodded, a small smile edging on his chapped lips. “I almost thought you have forgotten.”

I shook my head from side to side, vision becoming blurry and unfocused with each passing second. Merlin, are you toying with me again? “How could I when you kept reminding me about it, you git?”

“Indeed,” he said with a smirk tugging on his lips.

And I almost didn’t believe this to be real until I pulled him into a crushing embrace, inhaling a lungful of his soft earthy and herbal scent, digging my fingers into the fabric of his clothes, holding on for dear life, in general. He returned the gesture with equal relief and desperation, if not even more so, and buried his face to the crook of my shoulder, tremors coursing through his body in waves.

“Bloody Hell, I’ve missed you so much,” I whispered, weaving my fingers through his dark hair.

“You have no idea, brat,” his chest rumbled as he spoke, resonating with every syllable as I soaked it all up greedily like a dried sponge dying for any amount of water given, anything at all would be fine at this point.

Then we kissed. Slowly, but passionately. Our tongues sliding on one another, teeth grazing, tasting and drowning in each other’s heat. My hands held onto to his face, feeling his cool and smooth skin under the roughness of my palms... It was perfect the way our bodies once again found their usual rhythm, of rocking and grinding and exploring... It was good, it was perfect, it was truly, madly and devastatingly beautiful.

I undid his shirt, one button at a time with shaking fingers as he did the same with mine until his fell to the floor, exposing that wonderfully flawed body underneath, in all of its mostly hairless and pale glory. The metal belt clinked in the brisk air, and his trousers followed the cotton shirt as I stared hungrily at that thin dusting of dark hair running from just below his navel and disappearing under the band of his silky black boxer.

Lust and want filled those ebony orbs, shining brilliantly, yet the grief and sorrow behind it all was also unmistakable. Had Bellatrix not been killed by Molly, I swear to Merlin, I would hunt her down and kill her as slowly and as painfully as I could. But even if that was possible, even if I could kill her a hundred times over, it still wouldn’t be enough for what she had done to him, to us all. How dare she? How dare she drag him down now along with countless others she had murdered, after all these years after having been forever banished from the face of the earth?

The mattress sank under our weight as we both fell down upon it, kissing and rutting once again as I tried to wash away the bitterness in my mouth. “Tell me what you want, Severus.”

His lips were rosy and kissed swollen, glimmering with our shared saliva as he looked up at me from behind those long eyelashes, gasping ever so softly with flushing cheeks. “Make love to me, Harry... I- I want to feel you deep inside me.” He whispered hoarsely, chest heaving as I nodded and closed my eyes. “Make it last, Harry... Please...” he spread his legs readily for me and wrapped them around my waist along with his thin arms pulling me down from the neck, holding me close as I could hear his heartbeat sped up to match with my own, beat by beat.

Desperation. The emotion had never been more palpable and unbearable at that one single moment in time. It was exactly like that fateful morning again, that morning when he woke up and asked me about who I was for the first time.

“I know,” I smiled through my tears and nodded again shakily. “And I will, Severus. I will.”

-

-

There was a knock on the door, a soft rapping that interrupted Severus from his reading as he put down his book and stared at the door with a frown. Who could that possibly be?

The knocking continued to persist, as he sighed and got up with much more ease. The aching in his back had ceased considerably when he woke up one morning not too long ago, the pills he had been taking must finally be working then. He wondered absentmindedly if those had any healing property in them as well for it had been quite a while since he last felt this loose and relaxed. Or perhaps it was because of the baths he had been taking since the plumbing system had been dealt with a couple of days ago, at least the water was adequately warm again, heater or not.

At the back of his mind, there was an image of a young man wearing a suit with a brief case in his hand and a rueful smile on his lips... But the details were too vague and blurry for them to actually be anything but a stranger on the street or images from an already forgotten dream.

“Yes?” he opened the door to find a young man standing on the other side of it. He had messy and disheveled dark hair but sported quite a striking pair of green eyes.

“Hullo, sir,” he greeted, smiling broadly. Something twinged in Severus’ heart, but for what reason he didn’t even know.

He frowned and looked at the boy. Had he met him somewhere before? “And you are?”

“Harry, sir, Harry Potter. I’m your neighbor, remember?” the young man said, raising his thumb to gesture at the door to the flat opposite from Severus’ own.

“I-...” he really didn’t know... but that name had sounded awfully familiar somehow. Like a distant echo of something he felt like he probably should know very, very well.

“It’s all right, sir. I haven’t been around here much as of late because of my job, but now that’s done, you’ll be seeing me much more often. I guess you’ll remember me better then,” he grinned yet again, as if the notion pleased him a lot. Why, though? Why should it be of significance to this... Harry Potter whether Severus would remember him or not?

“Harry!” someone called as both Severus and the young Mr. Potter turned to see a couple approaching, both looking to be around the same age as Potter himself. The woman had bushy long hair and was carrying a young child in her arms with a tall red-headed man right by her side. “Mrs. McGonagall just called, they are all waiting for us,” she continued, shifting the little boy to have a better handle of him.

“Yeah, mate. We’re all very eager to hear about this new break-through you spoke of the other day.”

“Give me a second, Ron, Hermione. I’ll be right there,” Mr. Potter replied hastily and resumed his attention back to Severus. “Sorry about that. Would you like to join us, though? We’re having a meeting with the rest of the floor’s occupants, today. Maybe you’ll enjoy it?” and hope was glittering in his eyes.

He stared at Potter for a little bit, contemplating his options and assessing the situation. What was the aim of this invitation? He found himself asking, but then the question got quickly washed away the longer he spent looking at the young man before him.

Rarely did he see it, but Severus knew a genuine smile when he saw one. And this Harry Potter was as genuine as they went, as clear as crystal... but as he narrowed his eyes, something out of habit more than anything, Severus couldn’t help but detect a hint of sadness hidden behind those familiar green eyes...

Perhaps there truly was no ulterior motive behind his invitation, Severus told himself. However, sometimes, one could never be too careful. Besides, he still had 'A tale of two cities' to complete.

“Thank you, but I’m afraid I must decline your offer, Mr. Potter. I am occupied for the evening,” he said, taming his voice down to a tone that was the most neutral he could manage then.

“Harry, sir. Harry is fine,” the young man said, smiling once more. “I understand. Maybe next time?”

“...Maybe,” Severus nodded carefully, watching as... Harry turned to go. Suddenly, he had an inexplicable urge to reach out and seize his wrist firmly, holding him back and not letting him go.

Severus shook his head and shoved the strange feeling away.

“Good night then, Severus,” Harry whispered softly. His friends, Ron and Hermione, nodded their silent greetings and smiled at him, too, for some unearthly reason, looking as if they were all in on a secret that he wasn’t aware of. Normally, Severus would growl and tell whoever it was not to use his first name so freely, but strange as that night had been, he couldn’t open his mouth to deliver anything at all.

He had liked it, he admitted to himself, he had liked the way his name had sounded, rolling off Harry’s tongue so smoothly like that... like it was meant to be there all along.

They left, backs retreating slowly into the distance as Severus’ mind abruptly flashed back to a similar image of that same trio walking through the corridors of an incredibly old building. However, in that image, they were smaller, no older than twelve or thirteen, and the stone walls surrounding them had seemed warm and safe... almost like a welcoming home with tea and biscuits and faces of a past too far away. A past filled with magic.

Severus closed the door and let out a shuddering breath.

This had been a strange night.

* * *

 

_End~_

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who is curious: Bellatrix's curse was a Memory curse that made the victim (Severus Snape) unable to retain any long-term memory, or to be more accurate to the situation: all the long-term memories were slowly being locked behind a "veil", untouchable to the victim.


End file.
